


tracing steps

by alexcz



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: ??????, Developing Relationship, Help, M/M, no sburb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:52:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexcz/pseuds/alexcz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You left when you were twenty four, and you return at twenty seven, and you really fucking missed John Egbert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tracing steps

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE

You left when you were twenty four. Fresh out of uni and ready to try and make it in the real world with all of the things you'd learned over the last, oh basically your whole life up to that point. And then go and learn some more. 

Looking back on it, you're not sure if you were ready to leave. Sure, you had been excited and all, but there were always things at the back of your mind that were begging you to stay. You weren't sure what that was all about, since you weren't really all that sentimental of a guy (you were lying. You're far too sentimental for your own good). But you worked your way though it. If highschool had taught you anything, it was to be fucking ambitious, or at least try to make it seem like you were, and exude confidence until it looked like you were about ready to shit your pants with it and eventually actually look confident. 

Looking back again, while you're at it, you realize your hopes and aspirations were a little to great for what you were actually going to do. Sure, Cali sounded great, amazing even, and you knew you were going to have the time of your life, and you did. You really did. But at the time before it all happened, there were a lot of things you overlooked. Like the fact that you had never flown before in your life, and didn't think that airsickness was a thing. Like the fact that people in this new place would have to get accustomed to you, instead of being around people who already knew your personality and traits and quirks. Like how you're more nocturnal than anything, like how you're almost always near a device and will probably answer any messages within two minutes of receiving one unless it's past 3:59am then they're fucked. Like how you put butter on one half of your bagel and raspberry jam on the other without having to worry about people looking at you funny. Your occasionally perfectionistic tendencies that meant you might spend an extra fifteen minutes individually double-spacing documents because the way the program does it is just a little weird and it ticks you off. All this and more, the things that made you, you, and things you never even knew stuck out about you until you noticed people giving you strange looks every now and then. 

Either way, you didn't really care about that all that much. Those were but minor details after all. The thing that hit you hardest was homesickness. 

You hadn't really thought about that being a thing either, since you're obviously not sentimental.

But you were, when you laid in bed after a long day trying to make it big in Hollywood, basically pawning your scripts off on anyone who would take them, all that first year you were homesick. 

You remembered standing in the doorway of your childhood bedroom when you had gone to visit your brother a few days before your flight, and you had found it so strange. During university, you had roomed with John in an apartment, using any money you could get your hands on from part-time work to pay rent (though you had to ask Bro to help you make ends meet every once in a while. it was never a problem, but you wanted to prove you could do this yourself, on your own). You hadn't stepped foot into this room in at least a few years. Even when visiting Bro in between, you usually crashed on the couch in the living room with him rather than actually meander to a bed that, had you actually tried to lay down in it, would have had your feet hanging over the end like a dumbass anyways. 

But you had stood there, and even though it looked kind of barren from the shit you'd taken with you when you were eighteen, it was still intricately familiar and absolutely yours. It kind of tore at your heart a little to think you still wouldn't see it again for at least a few years. You wouldn't be able to visit as often, not at first.

John had brought you the the airport. Had helped you bring your shit out of the car and into the place. He'd even made sure that you had ended up there a little early so that you could have some "final moments" bullshit (but you appreciated it anyways). You both silently sat through coffee surrounded by others either rushing by for their flights or dragging their feet and looking like they were about to collapse from exhaustion. There wasn't much of an in between, save for you two. 

You were nervous. You hadn't said it, but you could tell that he saw right through you. Not that you think you were being secretive about it anyways, try as you may have. You knew your one hand was gripping at the coffee mug just a little too tightly, and that your other was tapping away at the table top as you cautiously took sips and tapped your foot at a pace that was too fast to be echoing the beat of whatever was playing idly over the speakers of the cafeteria. You were just idly people watching, trying to focus on others' distress rather than your own. You glance at John a few times, and every time he's looking at you. He looked nice, for having just woken up himself before waking you up to leave. But you had both fallen asleep in your clothes the night before on the couch, leaning against one another in a last-ditch effort to savour it before you left. 

You kind of wondered why he didn't want to come with you. You had brought it up a few times, saying that he could make a name for himself with ease, whether it be critiquing like you'd heard him express interest in during his courses, or actually pursuing comedy like you knew he could. You told him that you'd sit front row and laugh at all his cheesy jokes even if no one else did. He just punched your shoulder and shook his head, and said he was going to hang back. Even he wasn't all too sure of why, but you didn't hold it against him or anything. But he asked you, too, why you wouldn't stay. You had potential to pursue your fucking love of dinos and other miscellaneous deceased things that struck your fancy, but that would've meant more school and less time and just more of what you didn't think you had. It was tough, but you thought you were making the right decision. 

"-ave. _Dave!"_ you jolt back to the present when he finally gets your attention, and his head is tilted, the look on his face a mixture of amusement and concern.

"What?"

"Oh, have I got your attention now? What am I going to do with you, honestly," he jokes, rolling his eyes a little. It is only now that you realize that his hand is on top of yours, effectively stopping your finger tapping. "Your coffee's getting cold, loser."

And now he seems to realize where his hand is, too, because he moves it away, back to his own cup which has probably been empty now for a while. Your fingers curl a little at the loss of warmth, trying to not make it seem like you were seeking it back out. You take another sip of your now lukewarm coffee.

He gives you a smile. "You're going to be fine," he mumbles reassuringly for the nth time in the past ten hours. And you nod. 

"I know." You tilt your head back to somewhat uncomfortably swallow the last dregs of your drink.

He hugs you tightly when you're standing in front of your terminal, hesitating as the lady over the PA system is basically counting down the seconds until you have to leave. You hug him back with just about all you've got. 

He lets out a sigh against your shoulder as he leans into you, and you're grateful for the warmth of his breath against your neck. "I'm gonna miss you," he whispers, and you nod into his shoulder in return. You wonder if he notices just how much he's supporting you right now. In like, at least three ways. 

"Yeah.. I'm gonna miss you, too, John." 

He pulls away from you, though his hands linger at your sides, smoothing out some of the wrinkles in your sweater in an attempt to make it look like you hadn't been wearing it for at least 30 hours. He huffs as he gives up, and gives your shoulder a little nudge with his fist. 

"I'm proud of you, dweeb. Go get em," he says with that lopsided grin of his, and you can't help but return it, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

"You know it." 

And then you were gone. 

Most nights you'd end up talking to John anyways. You still talked a lot, but even the smaller gap in timezones threw off your schedules a bit at first for just how often you could talk. You remember a lot of late-night skype calls, laying in bed with your laptop on your chest, and seeing his face illuminated by the blue light of his screen, and it was nice. A few mornings you'd wake up to the call still on, both of you having fallen asleep, and you would absently watch, if you were lucky enough to wake up first, for a short while, and snicker quietly to yourself about how much of a nerd he looked like passed out with his mouth slightly ajar and one arm tossed over his face and his glasses askew. It was infinitely endearing.

But he'd been keeping you up to date pretty consistently with all his goings-on and such, just as you did yours. He sent you ridiculous pictures of mundane shit he'd do, but you were guilty of the same, and you were sure he had an arsenal of ridiculous selfies stored away for use at a later date against you, or blackmail or some shit, but you didn't really care because it was John. 

You told him you missed him at least five times a week. Once a night. During the week, at least. Neither of you had much time over the weekends. He missed you, too.

But you made it through. You caught a few breaks, that lead to some bigger ones, and by the time your third year in Hollywood came around, you had successfully made a name for yourself, but it was just a nametag, and you still had a ways to go before you came anywhere near employee of the month. But you had just started getting into the post-production stages of your second film, and you were ready to settle down for a bit and let the stress of all this shit move away from you for a bit. 

And lately, you had been talking with John about heading home to visit for a while. For as long as he'd let you. You'd be happy with even just a few days with him, but he assured you and nearly bullied you into saying that you'd stay at least the week. You were quick to agree, and told him that as soon as your work here was done, you'd be on the first plane home. 

And again, you find yourself overlooking the reality of airsickness, and overall restlessness because holy shit you're _going home_. You'll be home for the first time in three years. You're now twenty seven years old, and you don't think you've felt this weird since you shook Leonard Nimoy's hand last year. You fidget in your seat the whole flight.

And you can't take your fucking mind off of him. You wonder if he's changed much in the past three years. You know it's a dumb question, since you've continued to talk consistently for as long as you've been away from one another. But you can't help it. Does he still like too much sugar in his coffee? Does he still reread his favourite books too many times until you're surprised he even likes it anymore? You find yourself flipping through some of the pictures he's sent you of himself that are more recent, and you can tell his hair is longer than it usually is, the dark curls of his bangs starting to hang lower over his ears and into his eyes a little, and you really wish you could just reach out and brush it away for him so you could see his eyes better.

You have to pause for a moment to take into account that your hand is shaking a little. The smile that tugs at your lips is just as jittery, your heart is already beating fast, and you _can't fucking wait to see him_. God, you've missed him so much. For how much you've seen of him over the years, it sure as hell didn't seem like enough. There's only so much interaction over the internet can do, especially after leaving a routine of seeing him every single day to suddenly not see him at all, except through the screen of your phone or your laptop.

And then your flight touches down, and you almost run from your seat. Picking up your bags was one of the most gruelling experiences of your life. Everyone seemed to be moving so slow, and you were kind of in a rush here. You had a best friend to see. 

He told you he'd meet you outside your terminal, and so that's where you wait. You fidget with your fingers and shuffle your feet as you wait as patiently as you can, and you're standing there for about five minutes, wondering where this dickwad had gotten himself to that wasn't right here where he was supposed to be. 

Until you hear the slight squeak of sneakers on linoleum, and quick footsteps approaching, and even quicker apologies. You know instantly, and you're smiling before you can really think about it. You look around a little, until you see the mess of the one and only John Egbert practically barrelling over to you, the biggest fucking smile on his face and you cannot believe how fast your heart is pounding. You reach up and wave, as if he can't see you, and he just laughs and then he's right in front of you, barely slowing himself down enough to not bowl you over with the sheer momentum. You only stumble a little as his arms wrap around your waist like a vice, and he's laughing before you can even speak, even though his jaw bumps into yours a little uncomfortably as he pulls you close. Your arms are around his shoulders in no time, returning it with just about as much enthusiasm as you can muster. 

"I missed you, I missed you, god it's good to have you back, that was too long, you can't stay away that long ever again, I won't allow it, Dave Strider, I simply won't have it-" he's rambling on into your ear as he starts to lean back, and you can feel his pulse racing against your own with your chests pressed as close as they are. You reach up a little to pet the back of his head, smoothing over his dark hair beneath your fingertips and _god_ it feels good to have him back like this and he's laughing with you, and you can't believe how much you missed this one dweeb like he's fucking everything to you, and you just want to see him all the damn time and you can _never fucking get enough._ And your faces are so close that you can feel his breath and his nose bumps into yours and you can see the way his smile makes the skin at the corners of his eyes scrunch up and then your eyes are closing and lean just that little bit forward and you're kissing him. You squeeze his shoulders as you practically smash your lips together, and you're almost surprised with his admittedly quick response, would've been more surprised if you weren't busy being surprised with yourself. It lasts a few moments longer, until you pull away slowly to finally answer him.

"I missed you, too."

He leans away, and you loosen your own grip as well, and he huffs, his cheeks flushed as his hands linger on your sides and you're struck with that sense of deja-vu as he smooths out the front of your dress shirt, kind of rumpled from your flight. He looks back up at you and your smile softens just as his does, and he bites his lip a little, and you suddenly get hit with all of the bashfulness you should've been concerned with before you went and kissed your best friend, no doubt your face is red beyond belief.

But he moves over and takes one of your bags for you, before pulling on your arm a little and you stumble after him as he laughs, and he looks over his shoulder at you before letting his grip slide down your forearm until he can entwine his fingers with yours and says,

"Welcome home."

**Author's Note:**

> the request thing i had going on was send me a song and a ship and i would write a drabble either based on the song or at least inspired by it. if youre interested, send me one and ill try to get to it as soon as possible!  
> i hope you enjoyed, my dears <3


End file.
